Chasing the Wind
by Kyra1
Summary: AU This is the truth, well, my truth, my real story. If there’s one thing I ever learned it’s that life never gives, you have to take. This is what I took. And even now, I still wonder if we all made the right choice.
1. Where the Wind Blows

For my senior English class, when I was seventeen, I was asked to write the story of my life – I wrote someone else's. When I read back those pages, there was nothing of me or my life in them, save for a name and a very large house.

Why?

Because sometimes it's easier to tell a story than the truth.

This is the truth, well, my truth, my real story.

The story of my life is the story of two years and two stubborn people, three if you count him, and too many long nights spent staring up at the stars with too much liquor and not enough hope. It's about memories and living and it may as well have been about family and death. It is my greatest victory and my worst failure all roped into one summer as my life. My life, it's all broken dreams, because if there's one thing I ever learned it's that life never gives, you have to take.

This is what I took.

And even now, I still wonder if we all made the right choice.

**Chasing the Wind**

**By Kyra1**

**Chapter 1: Where the Wind Blows**

I have always been lazy. This was the sole reason why I lived with my mother until I was twenty three. I wanted to leave. Really, I did. I had always wanted to walk out the front door, and down the slope of our long driveway, passed all the other houses in the neighborhood, and just disappear into the morning fog that rolled in from the sea. It had always been there in my mind, that thought, that soft whisper in my mind to just walk, but where does someone that age go, roaming about like some gypsy, and even I wasn't fool enough for roaming, so I had stayed in that large house on the hill with all its empty rooms and my mother with her empty eyes.

My mother, out of some sort of last minute parental guidance, it seemed that even she had a pin needle of, offered to drive me to the ranch that she had somehow managed to arrange for me to work at. Stupidly, I agreed. Together we sang off key to the radio, counting the cars that passed, and talked like men on those that we found attractive. We were talking, though never really saying anything, because long ago we had learned it could not be silent, never silent. Silence left time for thinking, and the thoughts that came during silence always led to arguments. Instead, we talked of the scenery and laughed at the trees that slowly fled the land like a woman collecting her skirts from a mouse.

"You look so much like him, sitting there." She never used his name anymore, there really wasn't any need. We both knew who it was she spoke of.

We were half a day to Arizona when she turned to me with gleaming, unfocused eyes.

Her thick honey curls fell to shade her face as she quickly cast her eyes away. When I was little, I would run my fingers through her hair, amazed that those long swirling strands weren't at all sticky like the substance it mirrored, until she'd laugh and pull me onto her knees and tickle me into tears. That was long ago, before I was eight almost nine and so very unaware of the cruelty in the world.

Soft and infinitely sad, her voice had shrunken to a whisper. "Like him in too many ways, you're your father's child." Then octaves higher, her voice rang cold and clear. "A rampaging fury that's too stubborn for his own good."

Somehow, everything always returned to him.

"And you're walking away too."

Even when trying to avoid our dance of sharp words and vows of contempt, she always managed to pull me onto the floor. "I didn't ask for this job."

"You wanted work." She said matter of factly.

"Not in Arizona."

One of her eyebrows lifted in cool disbelief. "I didn't think it mattered."

"You chose Arizona, so then why are you upset at me?" I managed to say before I flopped back against the seat.

"I couldn't find anything in Alaska." It was sarcastic, yes, but perhaps only out of despair.

I was desperately trying not to look like I was awake. I was nearly suffocating myself by slowing my breathing as though maybe I could somehow fool her like I had done as a child when she had come to check on me in the night. When I was little I would practice in front of the mirror, until I got so good at looking like I was asleep I probably could've passed for dead, not that she would've noticed. I'd squint through my lashes taking deep breaths through my nose; holding each one until my lungs burned and it tumbled out with me half gasping for the next breath.

She cleared her throat expectantly, then my eyes were open, everything but her voice fading away.

"You'll give yourself wrinkles if you stare too long like that."

"Hngh." I gave a little half growl half moan and turned my head to get a better look at her. Staring at her through the far corners of my narrowed eyes was really starting to give me a headache. Or maybe it was just her. She always did wear too much perfume.

The wheel gave a little squeak as she shifted her grip, giving me another one of her sidelong glares that probably could've meant _I didn't raise you to sound like a caveman. _But then again, she didn't raise me, and cavemen are probably a lot more articulate than we give them credit for. Take their paintings for example. I can't draw a stick man.

"You never could fool me." She said calmly as though she knew I was going to sit it somewhere between the rolling of my eyes or another grunt. I was part caveman, after all, it did run on her side of the family.

That was nothing a bitter laugh couldn't handle. "Don't kid yourself." Letting my head roll back to the window I gave another huff just in case she hadn't realized from the first one that I wasn't really interested in the conversation. "You only knew what I let you."

And there was her sigh, long and slow, sort of ill suffering over a question that you can't quite find the answer for and I could hear the tires churning up dirt, spraying the dust and pebbles against the bottom of the car like clouds of coffee smoke when you've just opened a new can and you can see the dark waving cloud. I always liked coffee. It's one of the two things that help me to deal with her. Coffee and liquor. Hard liquor.

"I was never an idiot." There was so much judgment in that statement, however flatly she may have said it, as though she were directing a room full of kindergarteners on why it's not good to eat paste, and I found myself blinking in that slow wheel grinding way that her kindergarteners would have used.

My tongue was itching to spit something back, to lovingly curl across each curse to - no, I would not be baited. "Of course not."

This seemed to satisfy her. She turned her attention back to the road as though it were difficult to drive the car down the road that never seemed to turn, and then she nodded several quick times in that half crazy way that people on the verge of a breakdown do. She lifted a hand to rub at her chin as though to speak, and then an old wooden fence post rushed along her window.

Immediately I was sitting up straining against the buckle to watch for the next post that followed. Mother lifted too, shoulders rising as her composure returned with each piece of the fence as if they were rebuilding her.

"About time." I moaned, having already pulled off my buckle. "You're like a little old lady on her way to church."

"You're like a bat out of hell."

This made me laugh. "Well delicate just isn't my style."

Then the house came into view. A person has really got to wonder: how does a place like that become so successful? Of course the natural question to follow is: how does a place like what? The house was pretty I guess, in a quaint poor country folk kind of way. It was white and small, despite the second story, and I probably would've sat there staring for the next hour if mother didn't clear her throat. Now I can't claim to know everything about ranches, because I had never been on one prior to that moment, but it just wasn't what I was expecting. It was like meeting your idol only to find out that he's really an ass. _And_ y_ou looked nice in all those interviews._

Realizing the car was now still in the driveway, I hurried to get out and get my bags from the trunk. No sooner than the last bag touched the dirt and the trunk closed, the car roared back to life. She did not turn to look back at me, though I heard her say smoothly through the open window. "Do try to be nice." And then the car began back along the dirt road, bouncing over the rocks while one pale delicate hand flipped upward in a silent goodbye.

At least I was mature enough not to give her the finger. Instead, I stomped several feet down the road behind her, fist raised in the air as though it were some almighty power capable of smiting her, yes Faye- real mature. And I guess I really should admit that it was embarrassing, standing there watching the dust where my mother had been. God, she was so selfish leaving me.

The dust began to settle and I found myself half dragging half carrying my bags towards the house. Though just shy of the porch, my makeup pouch commit suicide and leapt off the pile scattering tubes of lipstick and eye liner across the ground like little ants just despite me.

Someone giggled.

Instantly, I swung around to the sound, shoulders already thrown back. "Thanks a lo-" The words died in my throat before I had a chance to form them.

It was a girl. And she was barefoot, in the dirt. Using her fingers to comb out the pebbles she formed different symbols and faces while she hummed a tune that leapt and fell with each flick of her fingers.

"Hey kid." Admittedly, it wasn't eloquent, but it wasn't like I knew her name, and I'm sure eloquence is really the least of my worries.

A corgi leapt out from behind her yapping and then backing against the girl. "Ein's silly." Then she was pulling the dog over her legs that were splayed out ahead of her, his paws leaving little streaks where they touched her legs. "Who does Ein think Ein's talking to?"

"That would be me." I could feel my eyebrow begin to twitch in that dance it does when my patience is running low, or maybe there were ants in its pants. It was the one trait I shared with my mother, that shakey eyebrow of hers. Sometimes, when I had been especially "loving" it would twitch and shake till the point that I was expecting it to leap off her face, and then I would've bought her a card that came with new eyebrows inside. The square velvet ones that say something like "This is what you'll need after blowing out all those candles" and then the other eyebrow would've gone all shakey and I would've had to bought the entire card rather than just taking one of the eyebrows from inside, because _of course_ two velvety square eyebrows are less noticeable than no eyebrows at all. And it must've been a whole damn anthill because in seconds after the girl continued to hum to herself my lip was also catching the itch. "Are you going to answer me?"

Suddenly she flopped onto her back, arms flailing bonelessly in the air as though they were just ribbons of skin, and that thought almost made me lose my lunch. "Oh." She blinked one large thought clearing blink and then grinned so largely I was half expecting her skin to tear around the corners of her lips. "Ein knew someone was there and Ed did not."

"Who's Ed?"

"Ed is Ed." She stared at me like it was the simplest and most well known concept in the universe and that I had to be several sandwiches short of a picnic to even think of asking.

"Ri-ght." My voice drawled with sarcasm. "And where is Ed?"

"Ed is here!" She waved an arm through the air, rapping her balled fist against her chest in unison with her words in the same beat she had combed out in the dirt. "Ed named Ed, Edward Wong Pepelu Hau Tivurusky IV!"

My lips flattened in on themselves. "But that's a boy's name."

"Ed is a girl!"

There was that shake in my eyebrow again. It was threatening to run away from my forehead. "That was my point."

"Faye Valentine?"

Immediately, I was lifted. I had finally found a being capable of intelligent speech. The being was male, tall, well built, and not at all my type between his age and especially his thinning hair, hell, for his age he was already half bald. As though it was going to make up for the loss on his head, the man had grown a full beard – men are such idiots.

Smiling I turned, better to face him. "That's right."

"Jet Black." He said extending a hand in welcome. It was large and calloused, with a broad palm and fat fingers that completely enfolded around my own.

My eyes strayed back to the girl with the boy's name. Jet Black and she really should've been Baby Blue. What a pair they'd make.

There was a minute of silence in which he ran his eyes over me, as though he really expected to come to sort of decision on whether or not I was actually capable of the work he had been planning for me. "So you're our new recruit." Jet spoke as though he'd finally decided my merit, and he wasn't to keen on admitting just what it was that he saw in me.

"You'll have to work from the bottom up, and it's rarely easy." Here he paused to rub a over the smooth back of his head, and I fought to keep the corners of my lips from turning up at the thought of him with hair. "You're going to be tired, all the time at first, but this is honest work."

Nodding but never speaking I just let the man ramble until he was ready to lead me inside, because if its one thing I'd learned from my mother in those last years of school it's that sometimes it's best to let people talk, because by letting them speak you can't make any mistakes. That and my mind was wandering, so I really can't piece together what it was he said.

My room was small. It was the kind of small that tend to have jokes larger the room itself from skinned head comedians that laugh more than the audience, and the floor creaked in places awfully loud if one didn't walk on the very tips of their toes like some escaped ballet dancer who had to have escaped, because there was no way a ballerina would live there. But I had a window, one little window with its view blocked by some sort of deranged tree that was tapping its leaves against the glass. The walls were faded though still very noticeably mannish colors, and there was no where in the world where I could've passed for a man, civilized or not. It was small and mannish with its whizzing fan that always had me pausing to make sure it wasn't about to fall, again, though it made me smile and I dove atop the bed, laughing. It was mine.

Jet was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, shifting from foot to foot with a low smile that was so much like one of those old paintings, secretive and all knowing. He moved me quickly from room to room, my mind scrambling the directions, desperately trying to sort out in which direction the kitchen lay, until I felt the cool of his fingers on my arm, and I fought back a shiver. Then his eyes were seeing passed me, and I turned to follow his line of sight to a bluish door. "There's only one other place to show you."

For a moment we stood there, staring at this blue door that lead to what I was sure was just another bedroom, and secretly hoping for the kitchen. Then Jet swept forward, bending to move his hand to the door when a slow hiss sounded behind us. He merely turned to the sound as though he were half expecting it, back straitening as he tried to play off his mild surprise, while I stiffened very nearly jerking away into the wall.

When I finally gained control of my heart enough that I could turn to face the new man, he was watching me. Chocolate eyes running across me, as though trying to discern my worth and then he blew a puff of smoke into the air. He was draped on the couch, long spidery legs crossed at the ankle on top of the coffee table while his hands dangled off the back of the couch. He lifted his chin and spoke around his cigarette. "What's with the girl?"

"I hired her." Something about the way Jet spoke, voice almost flat, made me watch this new man with narrowed eyes. Maybe it was the way he had weighed me with his eyes, or the way he was folded over the couch like one of my mother's afghans, all length, completely and utterly content with himself, or it could've been that it was my nature to approach everyone with suspicion. "You don't get a say in the matter."

This made the mop head huff with a crooked smirk flipping behind it moth wing quick across his lips. "Yeah, but what's she doing here?"

Jet shifted to grip his hips with his hands, voice lifting only slightly. "I said I hired her."

This made him sit up letting his elbows rest on his knees as he tossed a handful of cards onto the table top. "But aren't you the one that said this isn't a place for freeloaders?"

"That's right."

"Then what's she doing here?"

My hands were clenched by my sides, eyebrows disappearing into my hair line as I growled ready to leap the table. Before I could gather myself enough to make the leap, however, he had already stood, the couch murmuring excitedly at the sudden loss of weight. Without another word he slumped forward, hands sinking into his pockets as started down the hallway in which we had come, a slow whistle dipping and gliding back down to us.

The larger man dropped his head to the ground, only his eyes raising a moment later to watch the retreating form. He shook his head, voice rasping sandpapery thick in the almost empty air of the room. "Spike."

"Don't worry about him." He sighed, quickly clearing the remaining distance to the door in a few short strides. "There's still something to see."

In one swift motion Jet opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. Having to shield my eyes like seamen finally surfacing from the murky depths of the deep blue sea, I was quick to follow him through the door. It took a minute for my eyes to readjust to the sunlight, blearing white sweeping through with each blink, until the silhouettes began to grow in definition.

There was an audible gasp from what I later realized was me when the light finally faded and I found myself staring out at the land. It was green. There was so much green stretching out to burn against the sunset, and there was a large tree that drooped in the middle of the green where cattle were scattered below, tiny brown shadows like ants in the distance, making my skin lift and crawl about at the thought.

"Welcome to the Bebop." And then he turned, smiling for the first true time since I had met him, and looked down over the land.

Like I said, I'm not at all eloquent, and that may be my favorite quality in myself.

"What kind of a name is Bebop?"

This story is undergoing major revisions, and plot change, so be prepared for a long and bumpy road. I do hope that I didn't make Spike's first appearance too rough. And it seems that I really don't have anything to say about this other than constructive criticism is always welcome.


	2. An Ordinary Life

**Author's Note: **Please keep in mind that this chapter has not been rewritten yet. I feel that I should place this warning that I do believe it is quite obvious the change in my writing style since this final chapter. At the moment I have been working on getting these first few chapters rewritten up to par so as not to have such an embarrassing reminder around. As soon as I'm finished with the rewrites then I will continue with the story. Besides, can't quite now. It's been far too long.

**Chapter 2: An Ordinary Life**

There's a kind of rhythm that comes from working all day everyday for several weeks in a row, albeit it a tiring one, but a rhythm no less. I had aches in my muscles that could probably win prizes, and a pain in my head that could at least keep me in bed for several days, but leaving chores undone would have warranted an attack from many.

Understand this: I did my share of the work, but some things were still "accidentally" overlooked.

Instead of doing the things I was assigned, in the weeks following my arrival I spent most of my time learning about the people in which I would be living with. Since I had never met any of them before each time I looked at one of them carefully there was something else that I noticed.

I quickly learned that Jet wasn't nearly as tough as he pretended to be. Beneath his, I'm in charge so listen to me exterior that he always wore around us hands, he truly cared about others. The only thing that surpassed his loyalty was his uncanny ability to notice when anybody had even touched his beloved Bonzai Trees.

Apparently I wasn't the only one to ever wonder about the origins of Jet's mechanical arm. Stories of its creation were soon being woven. Most of which included him losing the original while crawling into an abandoned mineshaft to rescue a lost calf. It had become a ritual that on every Wednesday evening, we would gather in the den, and create a tale of the man's noble deeds. Some stories were too outlandish.

The most ridiculous tale was that it was taken by beings from the future that rode the air in ships much different from our shuttles called zip crafts. They flew into the sky to return to their home somewhere in the stars, called Gan-Eh-Made. But of course I never believed it, since the nearest town was a city by the name Ganyemede. The Black Dog, as most everyone had come to call Jet, didn't mind the stories at all. In fact, he usually joined the workers to hear what great deed he had done this week.

I guess I hadn't really expected to see the "mentally disabled" child again. Most importantly, I didn't expect to learn that she was actually highly intelligent, just….weird. Edward Wong Pepsi Howdy…ah hell, it's not like I could remember her entire name. I just settled for Ed or "Hey kid!"

I'll stop rambling now.

It's kind of hard to find the words to describe her. She was a computer whiz, the secret behind keeping the ranch together. Only a select few were privileged to know that she was actually the one who kept the ranch up to date. I only knew because I walked into the dining room at the wrong time.

Then there was Spike, an agent for the devil himself. A seemingly heartless man, at least towards me, that only worked when Jet was nearby or those jobs that he claimed were actually worthy of his attention. He lived for the challenge of something new and difficult. If it was a simple task, he'd simply skip it, and I'd be stuck with the fault when it was discovered unfinished. Besides, no matter what I did right or wrong, it always seemed to merit criticism from him.

And looking back, the criticism was the penetration mark . . .

It was one of those days when I had finished work early, and planned to prove myself once and for all, but of course you know how those things usually go. Usually the heroine just struts up to an obstacle and beats it down with whatever object nearby, but this was exactly the opposite.

I had been sifting through the supplies in the barn when the sound of hooves could be heard beating a path through dirt. Mentally I was pleading for it to be Jet, but the voice proved otherwise. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring him, I had continued lifting objects, most of which I recognized, but I inspected each one as though it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on one. "It's called a brush."

A glare was sent his way. "I know that."

He leaned forward in the saddle; the bay gelding nickered below him as though it had understood the joke. It was a beautiful creature, with such unyielding reddish brown. "Doesn't look like it to me, or you've been neglecting yours."

"Go manicure your nails or something!" I turned to face him fully, his long legs unwinding themselves from the saddle.

Of course he folded his hands, inspecting his nails with a haughty smile. "Already have."

I ignored the mocking grin that followed, and stood, head held high in defiance as I strode passed him, pausing long enough deliver the rage that I was attempting to channel into my eyes. I was about to turn nuclear.

Approaching his horse, I held a hand upturned towards his nose, the other slowly coming to rest on his neck. "What's his name?"

Another self-righteous smile lit the demon's face. "Swordfish II."

I knew it was a joke. "Why would you name your horse Swordfish II?"

He actually had the gall to give me a look as though I were the strange one. "Because I already had a Swordfish."

Forgive me women of the world, but I was about to turn positively postal. He was too much. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" I ignored him, my fingers traced along the saddle. "Don't"

I smiled innocently. "Don't what?" Gripping the pommel, I pulled, one leg finding its way into a stirrup, as I mounted Swordfish.

"Faye, get off!" He was standing near-side, his fingers underneath the bridle.

Determined to ride the animal beneath me, I had tugged at the reins. "Let go!"

"No! Get off!" His other hand was reaching for the reins, but I jerked away. "He's got a vice towards-"

The rest of his words had been lost as the bay shied away. The stomping of his forelegs on the ground was accompanied by a shrill squeal. Spike and I had both hurried to try and calm him.

It had been a hopeless task.

The bay had reared onto his hind legs. I remember trying to lean forward to keep balance, and hold tight to the reins, but the leathers had slipped from my fingers and then there was a rush of air around me.

The ground had met my backside with a strong slap of pain, and I laid there staring up at the blue sky.

"Woah! Easy boy."

I forced myself to sit up. The barn and world around spun in a drunken dance. "I'm okay." I had pressed my hands to the sides of my face, hoping to shake the world into a stop. "Thanks for asking."

Two jean clad pair of legs had shifted in front of me. "I warned you."

The ground spun beneath my legs as I lifted myself. "You didn't warn, you fussed!"

His eyes flashed as he came to hover above me, but I wasn't going to back down. I had met his gaze eye for eye and found myself straitening to add to my height and angry appearance. "You can't be serious about staying here."

Hell with trying to hold most of my anger back. "What's that suppose to mean? I was invited here! That means someone actually wanted me here, unlike somebody!"

He laughed in my face, his voice pulled with sarcasm. "And your mother was so distraught about leaving you." Noticing my confusion, Spike continued. "You do realize that she had to beg Jet to let you come here."

"That's not true!" I could feel my fingers twitching to slap the smirk from his face. "The only one who had to beg to come here was you!"

He didn't answer, his eyes concentrating on something behind me. Of course I had just stood there, everything in me aching to continue arguing, but he stepped away, Swordfish and my crime forgotten.

"It's not like you've never been thrown off before!" I called after him, hoping to rekindle the squabble so that I might defend my honor.

He didn't answer, and I stood there gaping at him, gaping at something beside the paddock's fence, where many of the hands had gathered.

It was the first time I saw her.

Swordfish II snorted, his head shaking the mane along his neck into disarray. "Jealous?" I glanced at him, rubbing his neck softly.

She was beautiful and delicate, but demanding and strong. Her golden hair caught the sun like newly bloomed marigolds in spring, and her full red lips tilted upward into a shy smile.

"I don't see what the fuss is about? I guess she's pretty, in a washed-out soft of way, but nothing at all special. Just ordinary."

She was ordinary. Her slender figure wasn't as striking as mine, but enchanting in a simple way. She wasn't graceful, but her movement was fluid. She was perfect. She was a beautiful ordinary.

So she was the Julia that everyone had spoken of. She was the angel that appeared every Tuesday with a pitcher of lemonade for the boys. I had heard that she was with Spike's friend Vicious, but I caught the hidden smiles and innocent gestures. They were secrets that all women had learned, but her silver haired lover didn't notice.

The men huddled around her, each speaking out of turn to earn her attention and suddenly I found myself like any hot blooded woman, longing for the looks she was receiving from any man.

Her loose blue shirt and gray pants seemed so perfect to my stained yellow tank that barely reached my navel. Suddenly, I despised my mud covered jeans and face, and found myself agreeing with Spike that I had neglected my hair that was now matted and falling from its clasp while hers was merely a breath short from perfect.

It was at that moment that I realized the truth. Men fought for her eternal affections. They only fought for my bed.

My head pressed against the gelding, as I continued to rub him. As though in understanding, he nuzzled me, nose pushing me to face him. "You'll have me, huh?" I hugged him, eyes finding their way back to the angel, and the silver haired man who was now eyeing Spike suspiciously.

I didn't know it then, but something was going to happen on that ranch, something that would change all of our lives.

We'd gone to the county auction one evening after our chores were done.

It was a lively place that was overly crowded and loud. And I loved it. Trailers were parked everywhere their owners scattered amongst the small holding pens outside the arena, with the scent of manure and sweat lingering in the air around it.

"We're here to sell cattle, nothing more." Jet glanced between me and the demon, never once laying eyes on Ed.

Spike shrugged indifferently, and then strolled off into the crowd with his hands thrust into his pockets.

"That means no buying." Of course Jet was now speaking to me only. I was slightly offended that he assumed I would be the one to do something reckless. Just like a man to assume things.

I lit a cigarette. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry so much. It's giving you wrinkles." He mumbled something in return, but I was already too far away to hear. Unfortunately I hadn't got far enough away to escape the other who began calling for me.

"Faye-Faye! Faye-Faye wait up!"

Weaving between the men and women, I continued, hoping the girl would lose sight of me.

"Faye-Faye! Edward wants to come too!"

My mind reprimanded me for not stopping, and I tried to suppress the urge to stop, but my legs slowed disobediently. I had paused, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air with annoyance. "Hurry up then."

"Yay! Faye-Faye and Edward will explore!" The girl moved beside me, flinging her arms and legs in front of her, over exaggeratingly, and I had already begun to mentally kick myself for waiting.

A bark behind us had her bellowing something different. "And Ein will come?"

"Yeah." I huffed at my cigarette, as though it would release me from my captors. "Ein can come too."

"Alright!" And that was how my evening was decided; me, the kid, and the damn mutt.

People were scattered everywhere, and sometimes we found it difficult to move without bumping into someone. So with each bump to my leg, or unmentionables, I found myself glaring at the men around me, unable to determine if it was truly accidental. Most of the men just grinned, and leered suggestively at me.

And of course I wasn't the type to ignore it and just walk away. I was not my mother's child. "What the hell do you think you're smiling at?"

When he only dropped his eyes south of the border, I opened my dictionary, creating several new insults. "You bastard son of a dickless transvestite whore!"

Of course the man blinked at my words before filtering into the crowd without so much as a snappy comeback, while Ed stood below me awing at my choice of words. "Transvestite wh-"

I clamped my hand over her mouth. Kids these days really had developed nasty tongues.

"ARMPH!"

And nasty manners!

She bit me!

Whatever happened to the days in which everyone spoke cleanly, and didn't hurt other people?

I jerked my hand from within the girl's mouth and whacked it across the back of her head. "Don't do that, okay?"

Two gold coins twinkled up at me. "Ai-ai Faye-Faye!"

After a few hands of cards near one of the holding pens, we finally entered the arena. For a county auction, there seemed to be a lot of people there.

My eyes scanned the seats for Jet. I wasn't about to sit alone with the dirty mouthed kid and the lonesome cowboys.

Ed dashed ahead of me, turning into an aisle and bounding across the men and women sitting there. I had followed her, smiling innocently at the rugged men, so that they'd stand to let me pass.

"What are you doing?" Jet was eyeing me suspiciously, cardboard bidding sign in hand.

I glared at him. "Just thought I'd join you." Just like a man to be suspicious.

"Alright amigos!" The arena grew silent as two figures appeared in the showing circle. "It's time to get started!" The dark skinned man looked like an escaped rodeo clown. He was dressed in full cowboy apparel including the chaps. I found myself staring at the man as though he were lunatic. Outside of a rodeo, no one dressed as he was. "The Maricopa county auction "Big Shot" is now ready for bids!"

The crowd cheered as his blond female partner who was wearing a similar outfit, smiled hands clasped together. "Oh Punch! We've got lots of studs this evening…" She wiggled her hips in abuse of the feminine wiles. "And some horses too!"

My mental draw dropped at the joke, while strangely, the people around me laughed.

"That's right Judy. We've got some of the finest."

Her bottom lip folded out, while her hands propped on her hips. "Well don't just tease me. What's first?"

Giving Jet a sidelong wave, I returned to my feet. "I'll be back in a few okay?"

"Fine." He said dismissively.

I found myself back outside in the cool night air, surrounded by a group of men. I smiled. I blushed. I giggled at their jokes. I even played shy on certain topics. I did all the things that women have done for attention throughout history, and it was all fake. I needed to feel desirable again.

A dark cloud lowered. "Don't let the innocent face fool you boys." I hated that man. "She's actually a shrew."

"Go away, Spike" I didn't even bother facing him, until a soft voice reprimanded him.

"Now that wasn't a nice thing to say." Julia.

I spun to face her; I had to see up close, this particular brand of beauty, wit, and charm that was labeled . . . Julia.

She smiled at me, and then walked away hand in hand with Spike, into the heart of the auction.

The men that had been entrapped by me were now beginning to sift away after the angel. The floppy sleeved shirt that only reached her navel was the same as the pale blue that I wore, and somehow it was more striking on her, but she wasn't anything special. So why did all the men love her?

I had been left alone amongst the crowd.

I needed a cigarette.

The inside of the auction had grown even more crowded since I had left, and once again I was shuffling through a cramped aisle.

Jet handed me his bidding sign the moment I felt the comfort of the chair beneath me. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom. Just hold it. Don't bid on anything."

A growl was his only answer.

"Faye-Faye!"

"What?" I slumped in the seat, too tired to even ignore Ed.

She climbed into the seat next me. "Are Faye-Faye and Jet-person playing musical chairs?"

"Yes we're playing musical chairs."

"Can Ed play too?"

"Sure." I said blowing smoke from my nose.

Ed leapt to her feet, and paraded down the aisle, in which many annoyed grunts soon began emitting from.

Something caught my eye down on the bidding floor.

A dusty buckskin Morgan mare was about to be bid on.

She was beautiful. Deep blackish points and a dusty tan connecting the rest.

I had to have her.

Each time the price was raised, so did Jet's sign numbered 43.

I hadn't even realized that Spike and Julia were seated on the row behind me until the demon cowboy leaned forward and warned me. "Jet will have your head for this."

The sign was raised anyways, and a deep voice boomed my name from the left. Seconds later Jet was beside me. "What are you doing!"

"Take it out of my pay." The sign popped up again.

"You're damn right I'll take it out of you're pay!"

Up again.

"You already owe me for the boots!"

Up again. "I'll pay you back."

"You're already in debt."

"Yeehaw!" Punch threw a hand in the air. "SOLD to the lovely lady in blue!"

After the auction had ended and the crowd loaded their trailers for the trip home, I finally was united with my purchase.

I had ridden horses only a few times before coming to the ranch, let alone owned my own mare.

She was beautiful, and I was young.

"You couldn't even ride Swordfish," Spike was propped against the trailer, amusement clearly written on his face. "What makes you think you can ride her?"

I smiled running my hands along the side of the animal. "I can learn."

Edward was seated behind me on the ground with Ein. "What's Faye-Faye gonna name her?"

A quick glance to the excited red head and a pat to the mare's withers were given before I finally spoke. "Redtail."

"What?" Spike was genuinely confused. "She doesn't have any red on her. Her points are black." He readjusted the buckle on his jeans. "I can understand Blacktail or Tanbelly, but Redtail?"

I allowed a smirk to cross my lips. "Well if you can call yours Swordfish II then I can name mine Redtail."

His chocolate eyes stared at me in disbelief before he turned to get in the truck, disbelief replaced with disgust.

I smiled at Redtail as Jet's bulky figure came around the trailer. "It's late, let's put her up so we can go home."

Nodding I helped him load her into one of the stalls of the trailer.

How innocent it all seemed.

I never knew that my life could change so much just by buying a horse.


End file.
